Thicker than Water
by San Antonio Rose
Summary: Judy Wright doesn't think anything of it when her mother asks her to take some soup to the pneumonia-stricken mother of her best friends. Little does she know that Teodora Sanders has a terrible secret - and is desperate to tell someone before her past finds its way out of Transylvania to kill her. (Modern AU, Saturn/Teodora, warnings for GG-canon and SPN-level violence)


A/N: This is the first story in a rather sprawling new AU that took off at a right angle from a ficlet tanoraqui posted on Tumblr some months back. Although this installment is more of a fusion because its focus is on the GG characters, it will become a proper crossover later on. I have a long outline of where I want the series to go, but I make _zero_ promises as to how quickly I'll be able to get it written.

Also, I have to credit khilari for noting that in a modern non-sparky AU, it makes more sense to change Adam and Lilith to Adam and Judy to make them less of a deliberately-constructed matched set.

* * *

Thicker than Water  
By San Antonio Rose

 _March 26, 1958  
_ _Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania_

"Is that you, Judy?" Mom called from the kitchen as Judy Wright walked into the house and put her books on the hall table.

"Yes, Mom," Judy called back, hanging up her coat, before continuing into the kitchen and giving Mom a peck on the cheek, since Mom's hands were busy rolling out something that looked like dough for noodles. There was a steaming pot on the stove, and Judy thought she smelled chicken soup. "Adam wants to know if we can go to the movies Saturday."

"Well, I don't see why not," Mom replied with a smile. " _South Pacific_? Or that new Clark Gable picture?"

"No, I think he wants to see the matinee of _Going Steady_ —although I can't think why, unless he's planning to propose that _we_ elope. The reviews are pretty mixed, and it's about at the end of its run."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "And if he does ask you to elope?"

Judy sighed. She'd been going steady with Adam Clay for only a year, but they'd known each other all their lives. "I do love him so... but I don't think we're ready to get married yet. We've still got two more years of high school, and then I'd really like to go to a piano conservatory for at least a couple of years so I can teach."

"That's very sensible, dear. I approve."

Judy smiled, relieved. "Thanks. Anyway, when he does propose, you and Dad will be the first to know."

Mom chuckled. "Have much homework?"

"Not a whole lot. Just math and chemistry. I finished the rest during gym. We had skills tests today, and I went first."

"Would you have time to run an errand for me, then?"

"Sure."

Mom set the rolling pin aside and picked up a knife to cut the dough into strips. "Mrs. Sanders has pneumonia."

Judy nodded. "I know. Bill and Barry are staying with the Wulfenbachs until she's better. With the big game coming up Friday and baseball starting next week, they don't want to risk getting sick."

"And Mr. Sanders is in Philadelphia on business until tomorrow. So I thought I'd send some soup over for her."

"Sure, I'll be glad to take it for you. I need to go to the library anyway to see if that book I requested has come in yet, and the Sanderses' house is on the way."

"Thank you, dear." Mom took the cutting board to the stove and scraped the cut noodles into the pot. "You have time for a snack if you want one."

So Judy sliced herself some cheese and an apple to eat while chatting with Mom about her day and about the letter from Mom's cousin Millie in Illinois that had arrived that morning. She finished eating just about the time Mom got out one of the big mason jars, which Judy took as her cue to go put her coat back on. She returned to the kitchen as Mom was screwing the lid onto the now-filled jar of soup.

"There you are," Mom said, handing Judy the jar. "And tell Teodora there's no rush on returning the jar. I'm more concerned that she get well."

"Yes, ma'am," Judy replied, gave Mom a farewell kiss, and went on her way.

At the Sanders house, Judy rang the doorbell before immediately opening the unlocked front door and announcing herself. The sound of coughing drew her to the couch, where Mrs. Sanders was lying propped up on a pile of pillows and wrapped in a coverlet, with a box of tissues and a partial cup of tea, probably cold by now, within easy reach on the coffee table.

Mrs. Sanders looked up as she approached and smiled when she saw what Judy was carrying. "Oh, _danke_ , Yudit," she said hoarsely, her German accent made much thicker by her illness. "Und t'ank hyour mama for me, too."

"You're very welcome. Would you like some now? It's still hot."

" _Ja, danke, das wäre gut_. But chust a small bowl, I t'ink."

"Okay." Being one of Bill's best friends and having had the run of the Sanders house for as long as she could remember, Judy already knew where everything was in the kitchen, so it was only a matter of minutes for her to dish up a small serving of soup and bring it out to Mrs. Sanders on a tray. Then, at Mrs. Sanders' invitation, she hung up her coat, sat down in one of the easy chairs, and reported all the news she had while Mrs. Sanders ate, then took the tray back into the kitchen and quickly washed the bowl and spoon. Lastly, she made some fresh tea and brought out a cup to leave on the coffee table. "There you are," she stated as she set the teacup and saucer down and turned back to Mrs. Sanders, who seemed to be feeling somewhat better. "Now, is there anything else I can..." She trailed off as the sight of Mrs. Sanders' left hand, lying on top of the coverlet, finally caught her attention.

Mrs. Sanders wasn't wearing her wedding ring. That in itself wasn't so odd. But for the first time, Judy was able to see what that ring had been hiding: a small, oblong tattoo of a fossil—a trilobite.

That didn't make sense. None of the Sanderses had ever struck Judy as the type to have tattoos. Then again, if the rumors were true, Mrs. Sanders had escaped from the Nazis during the war, and some of the Jewish families Dad did business with had several members with numbers tattooed on their arms... maybe this was the same sort of thing.

Judy drew a deep breath and looked Mrs. Sanders in the eye. "... do for you while I'm here?"

Mrs. Sanders looked troubled. "N-no, I... I don't..."

"Um, okay, well, I guess I should—"

Suddenly Mrs. Sanders reached up with her left hand and grabbed Judy's arm. "Can you keep a secret, Yudit?" she whispered desperately.

Judy swallowed hard, carefully not looking at the tattoo. "I can't promise until you've told me," she said, just as Mom had taught her.

Mrs. Sanders gave her a searching look for a moment, then nodded, patted her arm, and let go. "You are a good girl, smart. I know why you say that. So I think... I must trust you. But please, when you have heard— _after_ , after—promise me that you will not tell my boys. I have told no one else, not even them, and I do not want them to know. Even my husband knows only a part of the story. But if... it... there—there may be someone, my grandchild, who will need to know. Who will need to understand."

Judy frowned. "Are you afraid of someone?"

Mrs. Sanders nodded. "Yes. Very afraid. But the police cannot help." She ran a shaking hand through her graying dark blonde hair and looked up and around, as if looking for something or someone, before looking Judy in the eye again. "Yudit, do... I-I know you believe in God, but... do you believe in magic? That witches and sorcerers exist? That the old gods are real and have power?"

"I don't know," Judy admitted, sitting down on the floor beside the couch. "I can't say for sure that they're not real, but I sure wouldn't worship them if they were. I'm a Christian."

"But you will—you _can_ keep an open mind?"

"I can try."

"Thank you." Mrs. Sanders nodded absently for a moment, as if looking for a way to begin. Finally, she said, "You have heard of Transylvania, I am sure."

"Yes, ma'am."

"There is a city there in the north. We called it Klausenburg when I was young. To the Hungarians, it is Kolozsvár. I think now it is called Cluj. It has a university—I studied there." She coughed, and Judy wondered where this story was going.

"High in the mountains above Klausenburg, there is a town—a village. You will not find it on any map; it is too small. I suppose... in English, it also would be called Mechanicsburg."

"Is that where you're from?" Judy asked.

Mrs. Sanders shook her head. "No, I come from Leipzig. But during... during the Great War, my father was taken as a prisoner there. And when he came home... he was not himself."

* * *

 _March 1919_

"PAPA!"

Lisl's ecstatic scream brought the rest of the family running. Papa had vanished during the fighting in Hungary and been missing for over a year, and the army had told Mama he was probably dead. But they had said the same about other men who'd lived nearby and who had come home over the past few months, so Mama had never fully given up hope. And now, sure enough, here was Papa, pale and gaunt but very much alive and coming down the street—coming _home!_

The little ones dashed out the door first, with Mama after them, and then the middle brothers and sisters. Sixteen-year-old Teodora, oldest of the nine, was in the kitchen peeling potatoes when the call came and thus left the house last of all, for she wouldn't greet Papa with dirty hands. Besides, someone had to see that the door closed all the way.

But when she hurried outside, despite the joyful cries of the rest of the family, she could hear Papa's voice, like a recording or a boring teacher, asking over and over in a very flat tone, "Teodora? Where is Teodora?"

"Here I am, Papa," she answered and ran to him, and the rest of the siblings stepped back to let her hug him.

But he didn't hug her back at first, and when he did, his movements were stiff and awkward, like a clockwork man's. "T-Teodora..."

She pulled back to see his eyelids fluttering as he looked down at her. "Papa? What is it? What's wrong?"

He tried to speak a couple of times before succeeding in that same flat phonographic tone: "You must go and pack a bag at once."

She frowned. "Why, Papa?"

"You must come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"You must come with me."

"But you've only just come home!"

"I..." Again he struggled to speak; again his eyelids fluttered. "I can say no more. You must come with me at once."

"Are we all to go, Hans?" Mama asked.

"No," Papa replied promptly without even looking at Mama. "Only Teodora. We must not waste time."

Confused and disturbed but not daring to disobey, Teodora swallowed hard and nodded. "All right, Papa. How long will we be gone?"

"I... I don't... know. Pack... all you can in the large suitcase. Wear your best dress. And... hurry. Please."

"I'll help you, Teo," Lisl offered as Jens went in to get the suitcase for her.

Teodora nodded. "Thanks. We'll hurry, Papa."

Papa nodded jerkily, and the two girls left Mama and the younger siblings trying to coax him to come inside.

Once they were safely in their shared bedroom, Lisl whispered, "What do you think it means? What's wrong with Papa?"

Teodora shook her head. "I don't know. Something must have happened to him."

"Do you think he's lost his mind, like... like what happened to Herr Heinz? Shellshock, maybe?"

"No, I don't think it's like that. It almost sounds more like someone's _making_ him take me somewhere."

"To Hungary?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

Lisl grabbed Teodora's hands. "Teo... be careful."

Teodora nodded. "I will." Then she kissed Lisl's forehead and pulled away. "Come on. We promised to hurry."

Jens brought in the suitcase just then, and Lisl and Teodora packed it as quickly as they could. There was just enough room for two of her good winter dresses and two good summer dresses along with the underthings and shoes that went with them and what jewelry she owned, plus her Bible and prayer book. Following her gut instinct, Teodora wore her best silver cross necklace to go with her best blue dress. Then Lisl packed two hats and tied up the hat box while Teodora put on her traveling sacque and Jens came back in to strap up the suitcase. Lastly, after tearful hugs and prayers, the three siblings went down to the parlor.

Papa, who had been sitting listless on the sofa while Mama prattled to him, straightened when Teodora opened the parlor door. "You're ready?" he asked, cutting Mama off.

Teodora squared her shoulders and nodded. "I'm ready, Papa."

"Come and say goodbye."

The strangeness of Papa's presence meant Teodora's goodbyes were colder than they might have been in other circumstances. She had a sinking feeling that she'd never see the rest of her family again, but she also felt strongly that she couldn't _act_ as if they were parting forever. And finally, yet too soon, Papa insisted that it was time. He took the suitcase and she took the hatbox, and they left without a backward glance.

Papa hailed a taxi to take them to the train station, but apart from purchasing their tickets for a destination she'd never heard of and later ordering their meals on the train, he never spoke over the course of the following day—not to her, not to anyone. She sat close beside him during waking hours, though, often holding his hand and resting her head on his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head, which seemed to be the most he could do. Once or twice during the night she thought he was crying, but it seemed so impossible that she wasn't sure she wasn't imagining it.

As the trip wore on, the names of the stations became stranger— _Praha_ , _Bratislava_ , other names she wasn't sure she could pronounce. _Budapest_ was the first sign that told her for certain the direction in which they were traveling. At long last, however, about mid-morning, the conductor called, "Five minutes to Kolozsvár!" and Papa stirred.

"Five minutes," he echoed in a murmur. "Five minutes."

"Where are we?" Teodora asked. "What's Kl—Koloscho—"

"Klausenburg. I—I believe it is Romania now."

"Klausenburg," she repeated, trying to place the name in her geography lessons. Then her eyes went wide. "Not—not _Transylvania!_ "

"Yes. Yes, I fear so. We will... meet a man and his son at the station. What happens then... I-I don't know."

She gulped. "How old is..."

"Seventeen. Eighteen. I'm not sure." He squeezed her hand and sighed. "You must be strong, Teodora. Whatever happens. For the good of the family, you... you must..." His voice broke, and he squeezed her hand even harder.

"I'll try, Papa," she promised, not feeling at all sure that she could succeed. "I'll try."

He drew a shuddering breath, let it out again, and went still and silent once more until the train pulled into the station and it was time for them to disembark.

Scarcely had they stepped out onto the platform, however, when an unfamiliar voice called, "Gospodin Vodenicharov?"

Papa went stiff and turned as mechanically as a clockwork man. "I have returned, my lord," he said more flatly than ever.

Two tall, dark men in rich fur coats—one man with a touch of silver at his temples, the other nearly Teodora's age—stepped out of the crowd. The older man walked up to Papa; the younger man stayed two steps behind the older but kept staring at Teodora, seemingly awestruck.

"And very promptly, too," said the older man with a smirk, his German fluent but strangely accented. "Well done. Your daughter?"

"Yes, my lord."

Papa then began reciting her achievements in school and in housekeeping, but Teodora was distracted by the younger man's unsettling stare. "Is something wrong?" she finally asked him quietly.

"Oh, no," breathed the younger man. "No, everything is right. Truly they lie who say there is no beauty in the world."

She blinked, startled.

"Ah, forgive me. We have not been introduced. Saturn Heterodyne." He swept off his hat and bowed with a flourish, then took her hand and kissed it, not releasing it even as he straightened. "And you, Fräulein Vodenicharova—my _dear_ Teodora—are even more breathtaking in person than I had dared to dream."

Her heart fluttered; she'd had no suitors as yet because of the war, and this fellow was very handsome and very charming. Yet flattered as she was, she still felt uneasy. "You are most forward, Herr Heterodyne," she replied, "to address me so when we have only just met."

He grinned and chuckled. "You'll get used to it, my sweet. But please, call me Saturn."

She felt herself go pale. "What?"

"We should have had the luxury of the journey to become acquainted," he went on casually, "but Father felt Leipzig was a bit far for me to be traveling on my own, what with the Hungarians still upset over our latest little tiff and all."

"Latest... little... you—you call a _war_ —"

"Oh, that! No, no, Mother was quite pleased about that, really. No, it's just that nobody can quite decide whether this area belongs to Hungary or to Romania, and of course, neither side likes the idea that it really ought to be ours. Not that we'd change much," he added, looking around at the station. "I rather like Cluj, you know. Thinking of going to uni here. Much closer to home than Paris or even Budapest. But modern—modern. Not that I've any objection to living at home—grand traditions, our village has, keeps the old atmosphere. Quaint. Charming. You'll love it."

"I'll—now see here! I have no intention of going anywhere—"

She was interrupted by a chuckle from the elder Herr Heterodyne. "Oh, _yes_ ," he purred. "She'll do nicely, my son. Vodenicharov? We have a deal."

A chill ran down Teodora's spine.

"I... should like a moment alone with her, if I may, my lord," Papa said.

"Of course," Herr Heterodyne replied with an imperious wave of his hand.

Papa ushered Teodora into the station's nearest waiting room, still stiff and distant. Not until the door closed behind them did he seem to relax at all. He looked over his shoulder, as if checking to see whether the Heterodynes had followed them... but when he turned back to her, _there_ was the Papa she'd always loved, his dark eyes alive once more but haunted and damp.

"Papa, what have you done?!" she whispered.

He burst into tears and hugged her to himself. "Oh, Teo, precious, precious Teo, please forgive me. I had no choice."

"What happened?"

"I was captured. Brought to their village. They tortured me for information. I couldn't hold out. And then... then they found my locket, with the pictures of you and Mama. Master Saturn fell in love with yours. They forced the details from me, and then... they s-s-said they'd let me go if I would bring you here to marry him. If... if I didn't... they'd have killed me."

"Oh, _Papa_." She hugged him just as fiercely. "Couldn't you run away after they let you go?"

"I tried! Don't you see? I _tried_. But he... he _did something_ to me before I left. Said something over the rack I couldn't understand—I—I think it might have been a spell. I don't know. I just know I couldn't change my course, even for a moment. When I got to Leipzig, I tried to go to the opposite side of town, or to the Thomaskirche, anything. My feet wouldn't turn aside from the path to our house." He sobbed again. "I'm sorry, _Mausi_. I'm so, so sorry."

She sobbed in reply but managed, "I love you, Papa."

After a long moment of mutual tears, Papa pulled back, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and looked Teodora in the eye. "Teo, I have to warn you. This village—Master Saturn wasn't joking about the old traditions. They worship the _old_ gods. You understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, Papa."

"That's one reason I... I couldn't... they wouldn't just have killed me and left it at that. The old ones thrive on blood. Since I'm a Christian, they couldn't have touched my soul, but... I couldn't bear the thought of what they'd do to my body."

She swallowed hard. "I see."

"I don't think you're in danger, at least... not yet. Master Saturn truly likes you. Keep him happy if you can. Just know that... spiritually, you'll probably be on your own, apart from God."

She managed a small smile at that. "But if God be for us, who can be against us?"

He hugged her fiercely again. "May He bless and keep you always, my dearest daughter. I'll pray for you every night."

"And I for you, Papa. And I for you."

They hugged a moment longer, but then Papa broke the embrace, the freedom and fire with which he'd been speaking to her ebbing with the color of his cheeks. "They grow impatient," he murmured. "It is time."

She drew a deep breath and nodded. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you, _Mausi_ ," he managed before the light in his eyes flickered and died, and once more the clockwork man, he ushered her out onto the platform to where the Heterodynes were waiting.

"So," said the elder Herr Heterodyne as they approached. "She is prepared?"

"She is, my lord," Papa replied dully.

"Excellent." Herr Heterodyne handed Papa a fat envelope. "There is the bride price we agreed upon." When Papa had put the envelope in his coat pocket, Herr Heterodyne continued, "And here is your return ticket to Leipzig. If all goes well... you will have a pleasant journey."

"Yes, my lord."

"And on your return home, you will remember nothing of this affair—not you, not your wife, not your children. You have no daughter named Teodora, do you understand?" Herr Heterodyne's voice almost echoed, and even Teodora could sense the power in it.

Papa's eyelids fluttered once—twice—and then, with a deep sigh: "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Off you go."

Papa turned and marched off to wherever his train was leaving from.

"Now!" Herr Heterodyne said, beckoning for a porter before turning to Teodora with what might have been a genuine smile. "I must say, young lady, you have had quite the effect on my son. And I don't know what you might have heard about our little village, but let me tell you, though we may not have the most up-to-the-minute conveniences, we're not so backward as to have none at all. I'm sure you'll be most comfortable with us."

"I will endeavor to do my duty, sir," Teodora returned coldly.

"Well, we mustn't keep my son or my wife waiting any longer. Our carriage is this way," he continued, indicating the direction with a sweep of his arm that also served to all but push her into a grinning Herr— _Saturn's_ waiting arms. "We've some paperwork to fill out while we're in town—a mere formality, won't take long—after which we'll get an early lunch, and then we'll be on our way."

"Oh, I _am_ glad you're here," H-Saturn growled... and kissed her.

She slapped him out of pure reflex. Fortunately, before she could recover from the shock enough to be afraid of his reaction, he laughed and used the arm that was around her waist to pull her, firmly but not roughly, toward the exit.

The paperwork, it turned out, was the official registry of the marriage at the city hall, making it legal and binding. Saturn served as translator, since Teodora didn't speak Romanian or Hungarian, but despite his conflict of interest, she got the sense that he was in fact translating accurately for her. Lunch, at a nearby café, was mostly occupied by Saturn telling Teodora all about himself; he had a special interest in anatomy and physiology as well as in engineering, but he was also a voracious reader, and it turned out that they had some favorite authors in common. He really was charming, and she was sorely tempted to let down her guard and ignore what Papa had told her.

The conversation her new father-in-law struck up once they'd left town killed that temptation once and for all.

"I think, Teodora," Herr Heterodyne began, "I had better tell you a bit of our history before we arrive. _Heterodyne_ isn't properly our name, first of all; that's only the form we use outside. Properly, it's _Ht'rok-din_. Genghis Ht'rok-din, our revered ancestor, first stumbled across this little hamlet, Mekkhan, around the year 1000. It's built around a spring, you see, which is sacred to the local battle goddess. She goes by different names; you won't have heard of her."

"The Greeks called her _Dynamis_ , apparently," Saturn supplied, as if that would help. "The Romans just called her trouble!"

"This spring," Herr Heterodyne went on, "has unusual properties. I shan't bore you with the details, but it was said no one could drink from it and live. The Ht'rok-din did, which was a sign the goddess had chosen him for her consort. Our family has lived here and enjoyed her favor ever since. Oh, we haven't yet conquered the world, but our goddess... grants us success. And we pay her due tribute in turn."

"I see," Teodora said slowly.

"It's nothing _you_ need to worry about," Saturn said quickly. "We quite understand that it's—well—not what you're used to. I can handle all the details when it comes to that sort of thing; you don't have to get involved if you don't want to. It just means our wedding may be... a bit different."

"I see," she repeated.

He clasped her hand. "Oh, Teodora—dearest, sweetest, loveliest Teodora—I _do_ want you to be happy here. Say you will, please?"

"I will do my duty as your wife," she replied. "I can promise no more than that."

He bit his lip. "If... if I go to uni, and I could arrange for you to go, too, would you like that? You... you seem so clever already. And we'd be together; you wouldn't be stuck there or here with no friends, no one to help you."

She took a deep breath and let it out again, considering. University study was something she'd never dreamed of being able to afford; Papa wasn't poor, but he wasn't rich, either, and there were eight other children to provide for. "I'll think it over," she conceded. "I won't be old enough for a couple of years yet."

"That's time enough," Herr Heterodyne agreed. "What do you say, Saturn?"

"Thank you, darling," Saturn said and kissed her. This time she managed not to slap him.

The trees drew forbiddingly close above the carriage as it wound its way up the mountainside. Just as Saturn stated that they were almost to Mekkhan, however, there was a shout from above them somewhere, and then the cheering started and people thronged out of the forest, surrounding the carriage and following it into the center of town. No sooner had the carriage stopped than Saturn jumped out and shouted something in a language completely unfamiliar to Teodora, and the crowd roared in approval. He then turned back to her and offered his hand, which she took and started toward the door. Rather than helping her out gently, however, he grabbed her by the waist with his other arm, swung her out of the carriage and up onto his shoulder, and shouted something else that was greeted with another earth-shaking cheer. Saturn shouted some more and gestured, and the crowd dispersed, though as the carriage drove off, Saturn beckoned with his free hand, and two... _unusual_ -looking ladies came over to them.

"Teodora, my love," he said as he finally set her down. "This is Gkika, and this is Jenka. They'll help you prepare for the ceremony. We'll be starting in a little over an hour."

"Velcome, dollink," said the lady with turquoise hair—Gkika—in German, but with a much heavier version of the accent with which the Heterodynes spoke the language. "Ve iz all zo heppy hyu iz here." The broadness of her grin backed up the sentiment, but there was still something unsettling about her, especially considering that she was even taller than Saturn.

"Dun vorry 'bout de language," the white-haired lady—Jenka—added as she threaded her arm through Teodora's and began escorting her to the beer hall across the way, which bore a sign proclaiming it _Mamma Gkika's_. "Hyu peek hit up in no time, Hy tink."

"What about for today?" Teodora asked. "What—I mean—will I have to speak my vows?"

"Eh," Gkika replied. "Hyu iz a Christian, like hyu poppa, Hy guess."

"That's true. I don't think I can swear by another god."

"Bot hyu signed de papers already, _ja_? In de city?"

"Yes, I did," Teodora confirmed, already regretting having done so.

"Denn hyu already gif hyu consent to de marriage. Hyu dun hef to do more den dot. Jenka ken enswer for hyu; dot's vy she's here."

"All hyu gots to do," Jenka continued as Gkika opened the door to the beer hall, "iz sit schtill und look preety until de very end, ven hyu gets de cup. Iz chust vater. Hyu drinks a leetle of dot, und Master Saturn drinks, too, und dot's it. Denn iz time for party!"

"Und hif hyu needs hit," Gkika concluded, ushering them into a side hallway, "Hy gifs hyu a _beeg_ glass of vine before Master Saturn tek hyu to bed. Or zumtink more—vodka, potion, hyu chust say."

"Thank you," Teodora said faintly and followed Jenka into a small room with a vanity table and mirror surrounded by candles.

"Hyu iz not de first bride to come diz vay," Jenka stated and helped Teodora out of her sacque. "Vell, iz usually de Master who go fetch de bride, not der poppa."

"Ven de bride dun come to uz herself, dot iz," Gkika amended. "Iz zome vot _vonts_ to marry de Master. Bot ve knowz how to help de vons dot dun hef a choice. Und ve tek goot care of hyu, sveethot," she concluded and patted Teodora's shoulder gently.

Teodora let fly a silent prayer and willed herself not to cry as Jenka nudged her into the chair and began working on her hair.

Soon—too soon—Teodora found herself with her hair bedecked with flowers, her face covered with a veil, and Jenka and Gkika marching her back across the square, past the reassembled cheering crowd, and into the large stone building in front of which the carriage had stopped. The gloom of the interior, which seemed to be one huge hall, was dispelled partly by a few torches around the perimeter but mostly by an unearthly blue glow emanating from a feature in the center that looked like a broken stone eggshell. The ominous thud with which the heavy wooden doors shut behind them also shut out the crowd noise, allowing her to hear the burbling of water. The "egg" must be the spring, then. There was a long, low altar placed before it, in front of which Saturn and his father stood in fine suits and another man in red vestments waited placidly for the bride's approach. There was also another taller table to one side that had a jeweled chalice on it.

Saturn gasped as Teodora walked up beside him, but there was no time for him to say anything to her, for the priest—at least she assumed that was the red-clad man's function—said something and motioned for them to kneel. She couldn't follow the ensuing ritual at all, aside from the evident questions answered in turn by Herr Heterodyne, Gkika, Saturn, and Jenka. There were hand gestures and signs drawn in the air with green branches and others drawn with bones, and at one point Saturn and Teodora's hands were joined and then loosely tied together, but it didn't seem terribly outlandish.

At least, not until the priest beckoned toward an unlighted area, and two men came forward, practically dragging a Russian soldier between them. The soldier was gagged and bound hand and foot, and he made no noise, but he was crying. When they reached the spring, the two men picked the soldier up and laid him on his back on the altar; one man pulled the soldier's hands above his head, while the other opened the soldier's jacket and shirt, exposing his bare chest. Next, the priest picked up a wicked-looking knife and, holding it high over the soldier's chest, turned to face the spring. He chanted something Teodora still couldn't understand but that made her hair stand on end, and then... he plunged the knife into the soldier's chest. There were a few sharp cracks and a few squelches before the priest set the knife aside and raised his hands again, holding what could only be the soldier's heart.

Teodora wanted to scream or throw up. She could do neither. She was paralyzed.

The priest chanted three drawn-out words, whereupon the spring gurgled and splashed more strongly and a dark-haired woman rose out of it, high enough in the air that Teodora could see most of her upper body above the priest's head. She was clad in a clinging Grecian dress the same color as the light coming from the spring, and her eyes seemed to glow with that same light. She said something in a deep, resonant voice, to which the priest responded, and stepped down past the egg to accept the heart from him. It looked to Teodora as if the heart were still beating.

And then the woman bit into it. And chewed and swallowed. And ate another bite, and another, and then handed it back to the priest before smearing some of the blood on her cheeks, proclaiming something with outstretched arms, chanting another phrase that everyone else (except Teodora) repeated back to her three times, and finally diving back into the spring. She didn't even wipe the blood off her hands first.

The priest, however, did wipe his hands before picking up the chalice, chanting over it, and handing it to Herr Heterodyne, who brought it first to Teodora. He chanted something else, raised her veil, then pressed the cup to her lips and murmured in German, "Just a small sip, child, that is all."

Whether by her will or not—she wasn't sure—Teodora parted her trembling lips just enough for a little of the glowing spring water to flow into her mouth. Herr Heterodyne took the cup away, and she swallowed. Terrible power surged through her, briefly overwhelming all her senses and leaving her gasping and coughing as it faded.

Herr Heterodyne actually looked _proud_ of her when she looked up at him again. As she struggled to get the spluttering under control, he moved on to Saturn, who drank deeply and gave a wild yell as his body flared with the water's light. And when that had passed, the priest motioned for Saturn and Teodora to stand and led them to the doors, which two other men opened. The priest stepped outside and announced something to the crowd, who cheered louder than ever, and a massive bell rang from somewhere, almost knocking Teodora off her feet. The only reason it didn't was that Saturn swept her into a passionate kiss nearly as overwhelming as the effect of the spring water.

"You were _magnificent_ , darling," he said afterward, spinning her around and then picking her up to carry out of the temple to an area of the square where a banquet had been prepared. "Oh, I knew you were made of stern stuff when you slapped me, but this!" He kissed her cheek. "Gradok the Dour lost _three_ brides at the altar—couldn't handle the water."

"The water?!" Teodora gasped.

"Mm. Kills most people—didn't we say? Oh, but not you, not you, my precious, my gorgeous, my _glorious_ Teodora! I _knew_ Mother would like you!" He kissed her again and set her down as they reached the high table, then grabbed a glass of champagne, raised it high, and shouted a toast to her that the whole town acknowledged with a roar and drank.

Teodora had not the slightest idea how to react.

Not until they were seated and villagers were bringing them food and drinks did Saturn notice that Teodora was still dazed. "What's the matter, darling?"

"What's the matter?!" she gasped. "What—how can you—th-th-that _man!_ "

"What... oh, the Russian! Never mind about him. Nasty sort, Russians, especially now they've gone Bolshie. Couldn't have let _him_ go even if we'd wanted to—not that he had much to go back to, no money, no family. Not like your father at all. Would have gone straight to Moscow and blabbed everything. But he didn't want to stay, either, even when we offered him a wife and a good position. No, no, better off dead, that one. Nothing for you to bother about. Ah, and here's Mother!" he added before she could come up with a retort.

Sure enough, making their way through the crowd and shaking hands with the villagers as they went, here came Herr Heterodyne and his dark-haired wife, whose light blue dress was as close to the height of fashion as her husband's suit. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Teodora couldn't put her finger on it; Saturn resembled her, true, but there was more to it than that.

She didn't have time to figure it out, though, because they were walking up to the high table and Saturn was pulling her to her feet. "Mother!" he called merrily as they came around the table, and he let go of Teodora long enough to kiss Frau Heterodyne's cheeks. Then he put his arm around Teodora's shoulders. "May I present my _splendid_ Teodora."

"Splendid, indeed," Frau Heterodyne agreed with a genuine smile, her voice low for a woman's and accented even more differently than Jenka's and Gkika's. She took Teodora's hands—her own were damp and cool—and said, "Welcome to our family, dear. I trust you'll make my son very happy."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," Teodora replied.

"Good, good." Then Frau Heterodyne turned back to the crowd and shouted something, and the feasting began in earnest.

Teodora didn't have much of an appetite after all the shocks of the day, but she ate what she could stomach and drank cautiously so as not to become tipsy. She even managed to dance a few numbers when it was required of her. Papa had told her to be strong, after all, and she had promised to try.

Shortly after sundown, however, Frau Heterodyne called Teodora aside, and they walked far enough away from the revelers for a quiet conversation to be possible. As they stopped, Teodora noticed that Frau Heterodyne kept looking at the cross Teodora was wearing.

"Frau Heterodyne?" she prompted.

"That is no mere bauble you wear," Frau Heterodyne replied, still looking at the cross. "You _are_ Christ's; I see it in you."

Teodora nodded. "Yes, that's true."

"But not precise." Frau Heterodyne looked up to meet Teodora's eyes then... and her own were glowing with rippling blue light, like the spring water, out of a fathomless depth of years. "Your _soul_ is Christ's. But my power now flows through your veins, into every fiber of your being."

"You," Teodora gasped. "You're the woman from the spring!"

Frau Heterodyne chuckled, and Teodora's bones shook with the vibrations of it. "No mere woman, I. I am the goddess whose life blood flows into every well, through every root, into every nook and cranny of this village. Ht'rok-din was my chosen consort, has been ever and anon, and even now _is_. You are bound by sacred vows in matrimony, with my blessing, to _my son_. Your union will be sealed tonight within _my_ temple. Do you understand, girl? I cannot claim your soul, but your blood, your bone, your life is _mine_. And if you betray my son, I. Will. Kill. You."

Teodora swallowed hard. "Yes. Yes, I understand. But—"

"But?"

"If you—I mean—I don't mean to be impertinent—"

The goddess chuckled again. "You poor, sweet, simple child. We do not abide by Yahweh's rules. My first son, Knife, who built my temple, he was a true demigod, the likes of which the world had not seen since Heracles. Strong. Great. Everything a goddess hopes for in an heir. But over time, as my offspring marry mortals and have mortal children in their turn, the line grows weak. I will not lose my own that way. So I return and wed Ht'rok-din again. Not every generation, mind—I am not like Zeus, who takes his own daughters as lovers. And it will be less easy now, as the world encroaches and even my people accept such things as photographs. But... oh, a century hence, say, long after you and Saturn are dead and gone, I shall wed Ht'rok-din once more and renew my children's strength."

"I... I see. Thank you."

The goddess actually laughed at that, high and pleased, like the silvery tinkle of a fountain. "Do you know, you're the first to ask me that? And to say thank you after—ah, what a shame you are Christ's! I do like you, Teodora. Now come, Saturn is looking for you."

Even as she followed the goddess back to the party, Teodora had the sinking feeling that her good standing might not last forever. So when Gkika, who was waiting for them when they returned to the feast, pressed something into Teodora's hand, she drank it without question. And somehow it didn't surprise her that she didn't make even a token protest when Saturn carried her off a moment later.

* * *

"We spent our wedding night in the temple," Mrs. Sanders finished quietly. "The next morning... I had this." She shifted her hands around the teacup and rubbed at the tattoo on her ring finger.

Judy shook her head in amazement. "How on earth did you get away?"

"It wasn't easy." Mrs. Sanders drained the last of her tea. "At first it wasn't so bad, you know. Of course, I couldn't write home—they had cast a spell on Papa's locket, so no one in Leipzig remembered me. That was hard. But Saturn was accepted to the university in the fall, and we bought a house in the city. They let me live there with him, finish _Gymnasium_ , go to university myself. Didn't go back so much. Saturn even let me go to church. And then, after uni, he got a job there, so we stayed. For twenty years we stayed. We were happy. But... we had no children."

"Why not?"

Mrs. Sanders shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe God was protecting me. All I know is, the longer it took, the more desperate Saturn became. He got involved with this group at the university, the Thule Society. They said they had secret knowledge. He tried everything. And the Thule, they... they revered him, _worshipped_ him, urged him to explore the divine side of his nature. So he did. He spent more and more time with his mother, in the temple. He even brought home bottles of the water to drink before he went to the meetings of the Thule. He grew cold, distant, dangerous, to everyone but me. But it was all to no purpose. And then... the Nazis came."

Judy drew her knees up to her chest.

"It took quite a while for me to find out what was going on. At first, you see, the Nazis left us alone, granted our area to Hungary but left a puppet in charge of the government and let us govern ourselves. But there were more outrages against the Jews, just as there had been in Germany. And then Saturn started insisting that we leave town once a month. His mother could heal me, he said. And he always took a gift box to her when we went, and then he would take me into the temple, make me bathe in the spring, and then... attempt."

Judy nodded. "I follow you. But the gift boxes were—"

"Hearts. _Jewish_ hearts. I didn't know until after I finally became pregnant. Saturn drank too much one night and told me everything—'It was the rabbi,' he said. 'The rabbi had more power than three virgins.' I cried so long... but I knew I could never make it out on my own, not with the baby coming and the war. Then Bill was born, and Saturn was so happy, I thought... I hoped he'd be content. But I was wrong. Within a year, he was trying again, though he didn't tell me who he'd killed. And again it worked. We had just found out when the Nazis took over for real, and Saturn... Saturn went to the Gestapo and _volunteered_ to help oversee the new ghetto. I knew then what he was planning to do. So many thousands... it would have been far more than just children his mother would grant him.

"But God was with me. He sent a man from England, from a society called the Men of Letters who wanted to bring down the Thule. This man promised to help me hide and take me to England if I got him information. He gave me a camera to take microfilm pictures of the documents and the books of the Thule. And then Saturn had to go to Budapest overnight. I took my chance, took Bill and all the microfilm, and we ran. The Man of Letters arranged for a plane to take us to England that very night. They gave me charms to hide me, to hide Bill. From there, they brought us to America. Barry was born in New York City. That was where I met my current husband. We became friends, but it couldn't be anything more—at least, not until the war was over and Saturn was convicted of war crimes and executed. After that... I needed an American husband, and my sons needed an American father. Peter loved us enough to take us all in, married me and adopted my boys, gave us all his name and his home. I thought I was free.

"Yes," Mrs. Sanders finished hoarsely, "I thought I was free."

Judy took the teacup back to the kitchen and refilled it quickly, then brought it back. "So what are you afraid of now?" she asked after Mrs. Sanders had drunk some more.

"This pneumonia," Mrs. Sanders replied. "So soon after Bill turned sixteen, and with Peter gone. Bill is... Yudit, you _know_ what a good boy he is, brave and honorable and godly. And Barry, too!"

"Yes, I know," Judy agreed. "And smart, too. Brother Dave sometimes says he should just let Bill teach the Sunday school class!"

"It's not—not their fau—" Mrs. Sanders broke off into a bad coughing fit.

"No, it's not their fault that your first husband did what he did, or that his family is what it is. They _are_ saved. I've never been as sure of that about anyone as I am about them. And they're _not_ like their father. Last week, even, Lucrezia Mongfish was picking on a Jewish boy for wearing a kippah, and Bill told her off."

"I know," Mrs. Sanders wheezed. "He told me. So proud. _So_ proud. But if—Saturn's mo—the goddess—if she's found me—" Suddenly she choked, gagged, grabbed for the wastebasket next to the coffee table, and started coughing up water.

"Oh, Lord!" Judy prayed and bolted to the telephone to call an ambulance. Then she called Klaus, who arrived minutes later with Bill, Barry, and Adam hard on his heels, and the ambulance was mere minutes after that.

But by then, it was too late. Despite everyone's best efforts, Mrs. Sanders died before the ambulance reached the hospital. Officially, the cause of death was pulmonary edema caused by viral pneumonia, but Klaus and Adam each separately wondered to Judy whether Mrs. Sanders might have inhaled some water during her shower that morning. Judy told them honestly that she didn't know. She didn't tell either of them anything of what Mrs. Sanders had confided to her; she didn't know what to make of the story herself. And although she hadn't promised, she didn't tell Bill or Barry, either.

But for forty-three years, she wondered.

And then Bill's daughter eloped with Klaus' son...


End file.
